


Out and About

by Littlenerdyemo



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Peter Parker, Braids, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gay Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Inspired by Fanfiction, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Peter overcomes it though. good for him, Polyamory, crackship, first I love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 21:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21308971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlenerdyemo/pseuds/Littlenerdyemo
Summary: Peter doesn't vlog anymore.And there is food, about three times out of five.And Evan is cruel to metaphors."Sometimes, when they lay in bed and it's dark and quiet, Peter presses his head to Evan's chest and listens to his heart going thump-thump-thump, trying to remember how it felt having that heart beat in his chest, feeling it through his blood and not through vibration on his skin.Remembers how it felt when nights were truly silent and things like hearing Evan's heart - feeling Evan's heart, were impossible, and not just in the sense of they shouldn't have been - but actually weren't."
Relationships: Connor Murphy/Peter Parker, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy/Peter Parker, Evan Hansen/Peter Parker, May Parker & Peter Parker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Out and About

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scooter3scooter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scooter3scooter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pretend I’m something other](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491700) by [scooter3scooter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scooter3scooter/pseuds/scooter3scooter). 

> Inspired by @Scooter3scooter 's wonderful crossover, which is the only reason this crazy crackship even came to my mind.  
I would heavily recommend reading their story first, just because it's so good, but all you really need to know is that at some point in the past Evan and Peter switched bodies, and that's how they met.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dear Evan Hansen, it belongs to Steven Levenson. I do not own Spiderman either, it belongs to Marvel.

Peter doesn't vlog anymore.  
It doesn’t register at first, the way he no longer whips his phone out of nowhere and starts documenting his wildly exaggerated versions of his life.  
It really only strikes Evan when he realizes that Peter has stopped bringing his phone on the dates that don’t end in sleepovers, how he doesn’t ask him to repeat things he found amusing, “_but this time with more feeling, and also slightly to the left._"  
He still blogs, sometimes; types things into his Tumblr, the one Connor and he never did manage to find the name of, or texts that one contact that's always at the top of his list, even though it isn't pinned.  
"Why did you stop filming?" Evan asks one day. They're having breakfast at Evan's, a safe four-hour gap between his mom and the three of them. It’s kind of funny, in an ironic sort of way; Connor and her drink coffee from the same matching mugs every Sunday, and she will never know.  
"Not that you have to - of course you don't have to, it's okay to change your interest, - but why?"  
"It stopped being fun", Peter replies, stirring his drink with the wrong end of the spoon.  
"No one watched them." He adds, casual. Conversational. Like they're talking about favorite pants that have grown tight in the stomach, and not his life-long passion.  
"I thought that was because you weren't allowed to show most of them?" Asks Evan, trying to soften his voice, make it seem as sincere and non-accusatory as possible.  
At least, he thinks that's what Peter said. He may be misremembering things again; now Peter will think he's not listening to him either. Great.  
"I'm not in the suit", says Peter, "no one's going to be able to tell I'm me."  
"So why don't you?"  
"I did", says Peter. "I mean, I just told you."  
"You're nervous", says Connor. He's holding a bagel in one hand and a sock in the other.  
Evan frowns; he doesn't remember buying bagels.  
Connor sets the sock down on the table - his hand is immediately batted away by Peter, who still has half a mind for his manners, even while having a conversation - and munches thoughtfully on the bagel, plain and uncut in all. Sometimes Evan really envies his metabolism. Mostly, he's glad he isn't one of the million tiny cells that have to slave over moving it as fast as it does.  
"What's going on?", Asks Connor, his hands on the table, locked in each other as in a prayer. He rests his head on top of them, looking at Peter through heavy-lidded eyes. Usually this expression would make everything feel hot and heavy. Now it's just plain terrifying.  
Peter blinks at him. Even after spending days in Peter's body, Evan has never been able to read him as well as Connor does.  
"Nothing is going on", says Peter. "And that was MY bagel. I was saving it."

...

Peter dips his finger into his cup of Something Barely Passing for Coffee, trying to scoop up the soggy remains of his cookie.  
“That’s gross", says Connor.  
"You're gross", says Peter, wiggling his finger at him.  
"That's unhygienic", cuts Evan. "_Both of you._"  
Connor replaces the finger wiping Peter's cheek with a napkin.  
"Thank you", says Evan pointedly, placing his empty cup on top of his barely touched plate. Seeing as he's been recently doing the dishes for four people instead of the usual two, he might as well make it easier for himself.

Evan is in the middle of braving one alarmingly high pile of dishes, doing something complicated with a sponge and a spoon that's still half bent from an unfortunate encounter with a frozen cup of Ben&Jerry's Chunky Monkey, (the kind that could just as easily dabble as a hammer), when two long arms sneak around his middle.  
"Hi." He squeaks, as Connor rests his head on his shoulder.  
"You smell like citrus", he says.  
"That's just the soap."  
"Nope, it's definitely in your hair."  
Evan sets the spoon into the drying rack, twisting in Connor's grasp.  
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks, trying to regain his composure. Connor's lips twitch in a momentary smile.  
"Due to your boyfriend being an insufferably angsty teen?"  
"It's nice you finally acknowledge it", Evan deadpans.  
"If anything, I'm an insufferably angsty adult."  
"In a few months", says Evan, no longer containing his smile. "But what's wrong with Peter?"  
"Don't tell me you don't see it." Connor squeezes his hips one last time before releasing him, casually hopping onto the counter.  
"So he's not filming anymore; people can change interests."  
"It's not just that, and you know it." Says Connor. "I think."  
Evan takes a cup and starts rinsing it. "Everyone was at least kind of edgy in tenth grade. I even had bangs."  
"You did?"  
"You don't remember? We had P.E together." Evan thinks they did, at least. Connor spent most of tenth grade getting stoned behind the choir room.  
"I don't remember, like, eighty percent of tenth grade", says Connor. "Sorry."  
"We're his boyfriends", says Evan. "If he wants to tell us, he will. Maybe--maybe he just needs to get through this alone first." He does not sound convinced, but what else can they do in this situation? "Maybe."

...

"Hey", says Peter. His voice is faint through the line, but even through shitty cellphone reception, Evan can tell how abnormally labored his breathing is. "Can I come over?"  
Evan stumbles a "yes" into the device. Before he can ask any questions, the call disconnects.  
Evan sighs, but doesn't call back. Peter is undoubtedly already hopping from skyscraper to skyscraper; if he wasn't already, when he called, holding his phone in one hand and a hair-thin thread in the other. (And oh, how characteristic would that have been for him).  
Evan doesn't want to add onto that danger.  
Instead he opens his window; wide enough to fit a hand in from the outside but not enough to let in the wind.  
He sends Connor a couple messages, fixes his shirt, sends another text.  
His room is bland and tidy in that empty sort of way. There's nothing to fix or clean, posters to align or action figures to hastily throw in his closet. Evan almost wishes he had some shameful weird interest to tuck under his bed; just to give his hands something to do.  
As it is, he barely has normal, boring interest to display.

A knocking sounds through Evan's window, startling him. Tap tap, it goes, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap-taptaptap -  
"Hey", says Peter, as Evan opens his window wide enough for him to crawl in.  
He never _lets_ himself in, even though he must know that he could; he's just polite like that.  
"Hi--uh, hey", says Evan. 'Says' is a generous word; he chokes it out, mostly.  
Peter's sweaty. And he's wearing a skintight suit. Also, he's Peter, which is utterly nerve-wracking on its own.  
"Hey", says Peter, again. "I, uh -" he scratches the back of his head. "I was around."  
They both know it's a lie; Peter has no family in this neighborhood, no friends. There's not even a decent coffee installment; at least, not one that Peter doesn't already live next to, only here they are smaller and the drinks are worse.  
But Evan won't say anything, and he doubts Peter will.  
"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" Evan doesn't look at him, focusing his attention on his fingers instead. They're bitten down, looking pasty and alien compared to Peter's gloved ones.  
"Yeah", says Peter.  
Evan falls back onto his bed, and Peter follows. They're not quite touching, but Evan can feel Peter's body next to him even without looking. It's one of those habits that stay after spending weeks in each other's body, each other's life. Evan is acutely aware of the space Peter is occupying, from his left ankle to his shoulder to the tip of his skull.  
"It's changing", says Peter. "Everything. Everyone is so grown up, suddenly, and I... I hate it."  
"You're in high school", says Evan. "That's how it works."  
Peter snorts. "So high school means everyone's life is suddenly a Disney movie?"  
Evan makes a non-committal hum in the back of his throat, the universal way of saying_ "I don't follow"_ without being a dick about it.  
"Everyone has someone. Ned has his girlfriend, and May is - she's dating Happy, of all people!" Peter sounds particularly scandalized by the concept of his aunt dating Tony Stark's - secretary? Bodyguard? – something.  
He's cute when he's angry.  
"Even MJ", Peter continues. "Even MJ has a boyfriend."  
Peter doesn't talk about MJ, except for the occasional offhanded comment.  
Evan knows she's Peter's best-girl-friend; that she's his first ever, maybe-not-entirely-over crush; he has heard her name come up in relation with more synonyms of perfect than Evan has fingers.  
It's easy to see why Peter avoids mentioning her to the two of them.  
Evan's hand snakes around Peter's, fingers tracing a circle around the back of his palm.  
"She did?" He prompts.  
"Yeah", says Peter. "It's this guy named Brad. He's a freshman."  
"isn't that good? For her, I mean."  
_For us_, is what he doesn't say.  
"Well, yeah", says Peter. "But also - I thought she was into me!"  
"It wouldn't have been fair to her", says Evan. "Keeping her as - as a safety net, or something."  
"That's not it at all!" Says Peter heatedly. "She wasn't a second choice. Ever."  
He must realize how wrong it sounds, holding Evan's hand, on Evan's bed while talking about his textbook-mythological ex. His next words are softer, accompanied by a reassuring squeeze. "But you guys weren't, either. You know I don't work like that."  
"I really liked her - not in that way; not in that way, anyway. But enough to consider it. And everyone said we'd make a cute couple, and I didn't know you guys – so I thought, why the hell not? I had this plan to buy her a necklace and make a reference to her favorite murder mystery – to let her know I listen, you know? And ask her out, I guess."  
Evan knows he shouldn't feel jealous, but it's hard; it's so damn hard. He doesn't want to scare Peter off; he wants to help him. He should help him.  
And if listening to all the ways Peter's mythological ex is better than him, so be it. "Okay, it was a really complicated plan. No wonder it didn't work out."  
Evan snorts. MJ, with her dark clothes and darker humor, doesn't look like the type of person to appreciate jewelry. It would be like trying to gift Connor a hairbrush.  
"No, it's cute." He voices instead.  
Because Connor does appreciate the brush Evan gave him, even if he never uses it. "I'm sure she would have liked it. A lot."  
"It would have been so much easier to just stay in love with MJ, you know?" Says Peter, somewhat wistfully.  
"Peter", says Evan, "Do you regret it? Us, I mean. All of this."  
Evan wants to take it back as soon as the words leave his lips - as soon as the first syllable stumbles out of his mouth - but they've escaped.  
He's made a mistake. He's made a huge fucking mistake.  
They spent the last three weeks dancing around the elephant in the room, and Evan has practically kicked it. With Connor's favorite army boots. And then turned the spotlight on it.  
The elephant stands, confused, blinking under the harsh light.  
"Everyone's so happy with their normal, heterosexual-happily-ever-after", Peter says at last, the words coming out in a rush, stumbling on themselves to get out as soon as possible, to get it done with. "Is it really so bad that I want it, too?"  
"I'm Spiderman", he continues, and his voice isn't breaking, not exactly; but it's got another layer to it, thick and choked. "I'm this big fucking hero; I'm an idea, I'm that poster people pass every day on their way to work. And my perfect girl isn't even a girl. And there's two of you."  
Evan doesn't know which part Peter's beating himself worse for. Which part he thinks other people will.  
"How many people will still like me if they knew? How many would still treat me like a hero?"  
"You know we'll love you no matter what, right?" Says Evan, because it's true.  
Because sometimes Peter is just a confused sixteen year old, who needs saving just as much as this city. Who _deserves_ to be saved just as much as this city, even if not in the exact same ways.  
Peter reaches out, throwing a hand over Evan's stomach, his hand twisting in Evan's Star Wars sheets. "I know", he says, his breath uneven. "Me too. I don't regret it. Any of it."  
"But", he sighs, small and defeated. "But people like us - people like me - aren't exactly what heroes are made of."  
"That's bullshit", says Evan. Peter gapes at him. Evan turns red. "I mean - I meant - well, you're Spiderman. You save people. That's like, your thing. And other people can't take that away. Ever."

...

"I got us Starbucks", says Connor. He's sitting on the biggest swing, a blue thing that looks like a dreamcatcher and leaves your neck cramping for days after swinging on it.  
Connor waves two garishly green plastic straws with a conspiratorial grin. "Evan doesn't need to know."  
"It's kind of impressive, you know?" says Peter, taking a long sip and immediately scrunching his face to the taste.  
He should really stop thinking that this would be the time he finally grows fond of caffeine; so far, he's about fourteen dates in, and it's just as bitter as the first time he'd tried to brave it.  
"Dangerous, but impressive." He nods towards the rest of the small playground, guarded by a flimsy metal fence that isn't even high enough to stop a kid from plummeting into the pavement, much less the busy street bellow.  
An ambulance passes by, just then; as if to emphasize his point.  
"That's what happens when you try to build a playground in New York", says Connor. "You end up with more hospitals instead."  
Peter joins him on the swing.  
It reminds him of a spider's web; a real one, the way all the ropes lead to a shared center. Peter gets the feeling that, if he focuses hard enough, he could feel for Connor's exact place without looking.  
Not that it would have been particularly hard; Connor's sprawled all across, his hair circling his face like a crown. He grunts and moves his left arm, letting Peter settle under it. It's a clear invitation, but one that Peter doesn't take.  
He's never been as brave as Connor about things like this. The _gay_ things.  
"Can I touch your hair?" He says instead, a peace offering of sorts. It looks soft today, like he'd made an actual effort trying to brush it - which would be a first, in all the time Peter has known him.  
"Sure", says Connor. "If you wanna."  
Peter picks a strand, tries to hold it without pulling too roughly or accidentally tearing it off Connor's head entirely. It comes up messy, tangled in dozens, hundreds other hairs - like a spider's web.  
A lot of things remind him of spiders, these days.  
"Your hair is nice", he says.  
"Thanks", says Connor. "The children in the wig factory thank you for the compliment."  
He raises his palms, turning them towards Peter in mock-plea. "Would you like to make a donation, sir?"  
His smile betrays him, breaking out despite the serious tone he is trying to impose.  
Peter chuckles. "No, thank you. I prefer my hair all natural."  
"You would kill to have hair as fabulous as mine."  
Peter lets it fall between his fingers, watching as it cascades cross Connor's face. "Sure... It looks better on you, though."  
Instead of fixing it behind his ear, Connor holds it, absent-mindedly wrapping it around his forefinger.  
He starts separating it into three nearly equal sections; the middle one is wider, but Connor doesn't seem to notice. Once he's satisfied with their sizes, he starts looping them around each other.  
"Can I try?" Peter asks, watching as Connor's hands skilfully turn his hair into a braid.  
Connor wordlessly hands the ends to him, placing Peter's hands on the two outer sections.  
He ends up with a wonky hairdo, result of too many rights and not enough lefts, but Connor doesn't undo it. Just picks it silently and starts weaving it into a bigger braid.  
It strikes Peter that he's never seen Connor with his hair done before. In last minute ponytails, or bangs to get the hair out of his eyes; but not like this. It's different, somehow. Girly.  
"You know", says Peter, watching Connor's messenger bag, with its many pins and the patches he'd added last June. One of them, big and red, reads _NYC pride._ "You're the gayest person I've ever met."  
"Is that a bad thing?" Asks Connor, raising his eyebrows. He looks amused.  
"NO!" Peter replies immediately. It comes out louder than planned, so Peter does his best to soften his tone. "I mean - well, you're so... out there. Like you don't even care who sees."  
"It's 'cause I don't", says Connor. "Like, yeah, sure, I won't go to an interview with a pride shirt, but I also wouldn't go with Crocs or booty shorts."  
"Oh god", moans Peter, "thanks for that mental image."  
"You're welcome. And you know, my parents really couldn't be glad enough it was a boyfriend and not another stash of weed."  
"So what you're saying is I should develop a drug addiction before I tell May?"  
"No." Says Connor. His fingers are frozen, no longer fiddling with the braid. Peter clearly stumbled onto a still healing scar.  
"What I'm saying is, it's usually less of a deal than you make it out to be in your head. There's a lot of worse things a person can be than queer."  
Peter nods silently, afraid to say something else that will ruin the mood again. Connor picks up the braid again, continues to loop; left-center, right-center, left-center...  
"Look, Pete", he says. His tone is soft; the kind reserved for when one of them is in a really bad place. He uses it on Evan a lot.  
"If May can accept you being Spiderman - you know, jumping from buildings and fighting _actual criminals_ every day - then I'm sure being bi wouldn't make that much of a difference. I mean, she was never nasty to me, even when I did wear a pride shirt and Crocs."  
"You don't have to come out", He continues. "But you don't have to continue beating yourself over not suppressing it either."  
"But what about everyone else? What about Ned? and MJ? and Tony?"  
"They can wait." Connor ruffles his hair, making Peter yelp in protest and bat his hand away. "They will."

...

Sometimes, when they lay in bed and it's dark and quiet, Peter presses his head to Evan's chest and listens to his heart going thump-thump-thump; trying to remember how it felt having that heart beat in his chest, to feel it through his blood and not through vibration on his skin.  
He tries to recall how it felt when nights were truly silent and things like hearing Evan's heart - feeling Evan's heart - were impossible, and not just in the sense of they shouldn't have been; but actually weren't.  
This is one of those nights.  
He watches as Evan's eyelashes flutter, illuminated by the soft blue light of the computer he hadn't properly turned off in his haste to climb into bed. He knows, if he turns his head, that Connor will be wearing a similar expression.  
He carefully extracts himself from them, watching their figures distort in the warm glow.  
He just finishes logging out of YouTube when the figure standing in the doorway huddling in her too-big nightgown, quietly motions him to come closer.  
"Go to sleep", she whispers. "Tomorrow's a big day."  
Peter nods. May hugs him, one hand on his head, the other holding the edges of her gown closed. It's freezing in his room, just below 68 degrees.  
"I packed the video camera", she says, a hint of a smile present in her voice. "The good one."  
"Ned and MJ?" He asks, just to make sure.  
"Will join us there. Now _go_", she says again. "Before they wake up and wonder where you went."  
Peter crawls back into bed, trying to regain his earlier position. It's a lot harder to climb into a twin bed with two other teenagers than climbing out of one.  
He glances at the doorframe, where May is still standing. He can't see her expression, but he's sure she's watching over the three of them.  
Near the doorframe, (right above it, three inches to the left), is his calendar; red and blue, with a row of X's that stop just a day short of an enthusiastically circled date. 30 June: "_Pride_!" It reads.  
He'd forgot to cross off another day.


End file.
